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When I was a child, our mother took us to prayer meetings every Wednesday evening. It was a small country chapel. During the summer the air was close and humid inside. I could hear the sound of crickets rising from the fields out back, slipping through the tall open windows. Women would cool themselves with cardboard fans glued to wooden sticks. There was always an image of Jesus guiding his flock while bearing a young lamb within his arms. And sometimes during the altar calls as the church filled with the murmur of prayers... I would sit quietly and imagine God appearing. A God who didn't mince words. A God suddenly taking the stage dragging all the colors of Creation wrapped around Him.

Added Mar 2, 2023